My heart’s still racing. My pussy still throbs from the last two orgasms, but somehow I didn’t think we were done. I didn’t think he could just flip a switch like that.
I blink back the moisture in my eyes, all the awkward mornings after rushing back in. We never discussed more, but somehow, this felt like more.
“Why can’t you just call your boss and call in sick?” I ask as he retracts the metal skewers and shoves them in the cooler still sitting by the empty fire pit. I bite my bottom lip, knowing how pathetic I must sound.
Shutting the lid, he comes up in front of me. Stopping less than an inch away, he reaches out and clasps my chin with both of his hands. He tilts my head up until I’m looking directly into his eyes, then he runs his coarse thumb along my bottom lip, gently tugging it free.
“If I could call in, I’d have already done it. But I’m the foreman. I am the big boss, I gotta be there. Trust me,” he breathes me in deep before leaning his forehead against mine, “there is nowhere else I’d rather be right now than buried balls deep in your tight, little pussy. I wasn’t planning on only feeling you pulsing on my fingers, then having to leave, either.” He places a chaste kiss on my head, then holds me back a few inches, his sky-blue eyes piercing deep into my core. “When I am finally deep inside you, I’m not rushing it. There’s plenty of time.”
I nod, sinking against him as another pair or arms wrap around my waist. Breckin’s warm chest presses against my back as they sandwich me in a tight hug.
“Tonight, if you’re free?” he whispers into my ear. He eases up, Brendan’s eyes locking with his over my shoulder.
They both nod.
In the next instant, they’ve both let go of me. Breckin holds out a flannel shirt, helping me pull it on. “It’s not much, sweetheart,” he kisses the top of my hair, then plops my hat on my head and hands me my glasses, “but I wasn’t planning on it being this chilly out this morning.”
“Thank you.” I smile, slipping on my sunglasses and tugging the warm shirt over my chest.It’s cozy and warm. Even though Breckin is the one who handed it to me, it doesn’t look like something he would wear, it’s more his brother’s style, worn and faded.
“Should’ve packed a few jackets,” Brendan calls out, already on the other side of the fire pit. They share another look, then nod. Without a word, they both pick up all the little odds and ends left out before hauling the cooler back to the trunk.
A minute later, we’re inside the truck cab, headed home. As the heaters kick on, I relax in the back seat.
“So, what do you do for a living?” Brendan asks, glancing at me in his rearview mirror.
“I’m um . . . A graphic designer.”
He laughs. “Was that a question?”
“No it’s . . . I really just do freelance work.”
“So, like an artist?”
“Um, yeah.”
“That’s cool.” His eyes meet mine again in the mirror as the forest thins around us, giving way to a few scattered homes.
“What type of things do you design?” Breckin asks from the passenger seat.
“You know, book covers and stuff,” I squeak my reply, peering out at the scenery. I’m not ashamed of what I design, definitely not shy about it in any of my book groups or online stuff. But it’s still not exactly first date conversation stuff.
Is this a first date?It kinda feels like it. Maybe.
“What type of books?” Breckin continues. “Maybe I’ve seen some of your work.”
“Um . . . Romance novels mostly.”
Branden slams on the brakes. I jolt forward as we skid to a halt at a stop sign. He twists in his seat, his hand still on the steering wheel as he stares at me.
“You’re shitting me, right?”
“No.” It's barely a whisper.
“You draw porn books for a living?”
“No,” I shake my head, “it’s romance novels. They’re books. Real books.”
He groans. “You’re killing me here, Prude.”